


En Paix

by Maeve_Pendergast



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, One Shot, Semi-Graphic Descriptions, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 18:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_Pendergast/pseuds/Maeve_Pendergast
Summary: After so many years of running, death has finally caught up to the Time Lord.





	En Paix

The explosion thundered across the ground nearly knocking Graham, Ryan, and Yaz over. 

_No…_

Yaz screamed, dry and hoarse and terrified. She tried to run forward but Graham snagged her arms and held her tight.

“Graham! Let me go! We have to help her!” She cried. The older man just pulled her into a hug and whispered “Yaz, there’s no way she could’ve survived that.”

Yaz wasn’t convinced. She broke free as the flames died down and raced forward.

_A shredded grey coat. A crumpled body._

Ryan collapsed to his knees and sobbed, low and aching. _Not again, not so soon._ All Graham could hear was ringing- harsh, painful ringing. He crouched next to… to the Doctor. _Not a body, never a body._ The Doctor was covered in soot and blood and gore. A massive wound has been torn across the woman’s chest and thick crimson blood swirled around her. Graham stared at the pools of blood as if his willpower alone could somehow force the lifesaving liquid back into the ravaged body. Yaz stood rooted to the ground. She wouldn’t - _couldn’t_ \- move closer. She couldn’t see the Doctor like that. The Doctor was invincible, the Doctor would never die. But yet, there she was, bleeding out on a battlefield. This was not the tragic death of a god. This was the forgotten murder of a martyr. 

There was a sucking noise as damaged lungs tried to inflate and the Doctor’s eyes flickered open. 

“Oh my god.” Graham cried. Ryan and Yaz finally pulled themselves closer. The woman was delirious and weak and they knew, _oh god they knew_ , that it would not be long until she was truly and forever gone. They crouched near the woman and tried their best to comfort a friend who was not long for this world. 

“Hey Doc,” Ryan said, his eyes red-rimmed. The woman looked at him and gave him a tiny smile. 

“-yan” she whispered, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to Keta XI like you wanted.” 

“Don’t worry, Doc. We can still go.”

Yaz couldn’t do this, _no no no_. She tucked her face into her shoulder. Graham’s hand pressed on her back and she looked up. 

“I know it’s hard, love. But you’ll regret it if you don’t.” he whispered into her ear. Yaz turned back to the Doctor slowly and plastered a small wavering smile on. She struggled for moment to find a question, _any question_ , that she could ask without breaking. 

“Doctor, can you tell us about your home? Is it beautiful?” 

The wounded woman tried to sigh but instead it came out as weak coughing. She thought for a moment of a world she would never return to, a place lost to time and flame. Reaching out with her mind, she grabbed hold of a vision of days past.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. Silver trees, red grass, mountains capped with snow. It was beautiful and when the wind stirred, the whole planet sung.” The Doctor smiled at the memory before a pained grimace swept across her face. “Seems the Council is finally done with me,” she whispered in a sudden shift of tone, “No regenerations to save me this time.” It didn’t make sense to the three companions but it didn’t need to. They could tell what it represented.

“-raham” the woman said and Graham leaned closer. “I’m sorry about Grace.”

“It’s okay, love. Grace would be very proud of all you’ve done.” 

The Doc’s breath was slowing. They could hear her lungs struggling to work, struggling to keep her alive. Two feeble hearts, normally so strong, desperately tried to pump blood through the mangled body. She was fading, fast. The older man pulled her head into his lap and gently stroked her hair. The woman pinched her face in pain for a few moments as the three companions held their breath. She opened her eyes again and they all exhaled. 

“Graham, I’m scared.” the Doctor whispered. 

“Shh, shh. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” he reassured but he knew, inside, it wouldn’t be okay.

The Doctor’s terrified eyes connected with his and she stopped moving. No more frantic heartbeats, no more desperate lungs, no more whispered goodbyes - just silence. The centre of the universe - the centre of _their_ universe - had burned out. The world stopped. Yaz stumbled back and threw a hand up to cover her mouth. Ryan dropped his head and sobbed, still clutching the woman’s hand. Graham kept stroking the Doc’s hair and whispering “shh, shh, shh.” They were stuck, rooted to the ground, unable to move from the battlefield. But they needed to move. They could not stay here. They could not stay fixed in a pool of blood on a battlefield. Graham, as he lifted the woman into his arms, thought morosely that this felt familiar. He was too well acquainted with death. He had seen so much and been running from it for so long. He did not care so to do it again. They stumbled back to the TARDIS, weak and exhausted and heartbroken. The ship, upon their entrance, hummed low sounding distinctly like a sob. With all the care of a parent tucking in a child, they laid the Doctor down on the floor. The older man gently leaned over and placed a featherlight kiss to the woman’s forehead. He took charge in the absence of the Doctor, knowing deeply that he would never _ever_ be able to replace her, and instructed Ryan and Yaz to figure out how to pilot the TARDIS. He had a phone call to make.

On the refrigerator in the ship’s tiny kitchen was a sticky note:

_For emergencies, alien invasions, or general calamity - Call Kate Stewart._

He dialled the number listed below and waited, about to give the worst news of his life.

* * *

A month later, the grass had finally started to sprout on the grave. Buried in the soft dirt was not a casket, not a body, but a box containing the torn remnants of a grey coat, a pair of polka-dot socks, and a packet of Custard creams. Tucked in a tiny churchyard, the stone above the grave read “A Celestial Wanderer.” It was the peaceful honour the Doctor deserved. 

Thirteen kilometres away in an attic in Park Hill sat a pile of cardboard boxes labelled “Grace’s Things.” And next to it sat a blue box - silent, empty, and still.


End file.
